


No Fears for the Brave

by Nemainofthewater



Category: 18th Century CE RPF
Genre: Death, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Ghosts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 17:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20262055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: Tallmadge stopped dead on the threshold to his tent, the blood draining from his already pale complexion.“Am I such a fright as that?” Hale asked drily. He looked as he always had in life, with fair skin and blue eyes that Tallmadge had always fancied resembled the clearest sky after a thunderstorm. Half-turned toward him, uniform perfectly pressed, the only indication that anything at all was amiss was the fact that he could see the edges of a livid bruise peeking out from underneath Hale’s neckcloth. That, and Tallmadge had heard news that he had been executed not one week previous.





	No Fears for the Brave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThebanSacredBand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThebanSacredBand/gifts).

> Happy birthday ThebanSacredBand! Have the gift of...angst???

Tallmadge stopped dead on the threshold to his tent, the blood draining from his already pale complexion.

“Am I such a fright as that?” Hale asked drily. He looked as he always had in life, with fair skin and blue eyes that Tallmadge had always fancied resembled the clearest sky after a thunderstorm. Half-turned toward him, uniform perfectly pressed, the only indication that anything at all was amiss was the fact that he could see the edges of a livid bruise peeking out from underneath Hale’s neckcloth. That, and Tallmadge had heard news that he had been executed not one week previous.

“Pythias,” he breathed, unconsciously reverting to the nickname of their college days, “How can this be? You were-I had been told of your death.”

Striding forward, he reached out, desperate to pull him into an embrace, to prove to himself that the other man wasn’t a mere fevered apparition of his exhausted mind. But Hale drew himself away, disdaining his touch.

“Don’t,” he said, “Damon, I beg you don’t. Whatever news you heard, it was true: I have was caught and killed by the British. I died with honour, I hope, but die I did. I do not know what I am, some spirit or revenant perhaps, but I know that I have not come back to you as a man of flesh and blood.”

“I don’t care,” Tallmadge replied, pushing forward and clasping his hand. Or at least, attempting to clasp it: to his dismay and to Hale’s thin-lipped resignation he passed straight through, with nothing more than a faint coldness to mark its passage.

“I warned you,” Hale said, “I fear that we now reside on different planes, perhaps able to observe but not interact. The material and the spiritual have never been comfortable companions, after all.” 

“Well,” Tallmadge said, “Should you start urging me to seek out your killer then? Or are you a more active ghost: that is, shall we point you toward the British army so that you might take your own vengeance?”

The words were spoken in jest, with a light-hearted whimsy that he did not truly feel: still, it was enough to summon the ghost of a smile to his Nathan’s face.

“I fear that I would be of little use,” he said.

“On the contrary! Imagine the look of fear on their faces as they hear that not even the embrace of Death is enough to quell our revolutionary fervour. What was it that you said, Pythias? That you regretted that you had but one life to give to your country? Perhaps some higher power heard your exhortation and was moved to intervene.”

Hale did not answer, only looked at the packed dirt floor of Tallmadge’s tent with a studied nonchalance. Tallmadge ached to go to him, to hold him, to run his hands through his golden hair and to smooth out the lines of care and worry from the corners of his eyes as he had often done at Yale. But he could not. So instead, he stepped forward, closer and closer until there lay not an inch of space between them, and then leant closer still. Not touching, but not quite separate either. Hale closed his eyes in pain and swayed forward himself.

For a moment, the two men stood there in silence and merely breathed together, neither of them willing to break the fragile measure of peace that they had managed to snatch from the jaws of death.

Finally, Hale said, quietly and apologetically: “Damon. It’s time. Whatever force allowed me to linger: it’s reaching the limits of its power. I do not think that I can stay much longer.”

Tallmadge inhaled, opening his own eyes. Neither man commented uncommon dampness of his cheeks, or of the crystalline droplets that were caught by his lashes.

“I swear that your death shall not be in vain,” he said, staring deeply into Hale’s eyes, “That no matter what, our dream of a free and democratic country shall come to pass. One day, our children’s children’s children shall speak of the great Nathan Hale, whose sacrifice allowed the establishment of a true democracy, where all are equal. I will give my life for this goal.”

“I would rather that you kept your life your yourself, my dear Damon,” Hale replied, “And that you recounted the tale of your dear friend Nathan to children and your descendants. Tell them of how I lived and loved, not how I died. Do not mourn me Damon, instead keep me alive in your memory.”

Tallmadge swallowed. Already, Hale was starting to look more translucent, fading away to whatever reward awaited him in the Afterlife.

“I shall never forget you,” Tallmadge said hoarsely.

“And I shall wait for you,” Hale said, “But promise me. Swear that you will keep me waiting for years, at least four score and ten. Please, Damon. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Tallmadge whispered, and then he was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I am on Tumblr as [Nemainofthewater ](https://nemainofthewater.tumblr.com)  
Title from this poem about the death of Nathan Hale by an unknown artist:
> 
> The breezes went steadily thro' the tall pines,  
A-saying "oh! hu-sh!" a-saying "oh! hu-sh!"  
As stilly stole by a bold legion of horse,  
For Hale in the bush, for Hale in the bush.
> 
> "Keep still!" said the thrush as she nestled her young,  
In a nest by the road; in a nest by the road;  
"For the tyrants are near, and with them appear,  
What bodes us no good, what bodes us no good."
> 
> The brave captain heard it, and thought of his home,  
In a cot by the brook; in a cot by the brook.  
With mother and sister and memories dear,  
He so gaily forsook; he so gaily forsook.
> 
> Cooling shades of the night were coming apace,  
The tattoo had beat; the tattoo had beat.  
The noble one sprang from his dark lurking place  
To make his retreat; to make his retreat.
> 
> He warily trod on the dry rustling leaves,  
As he pass'd thro' the wood; as he pass'd thro' the wood;  
And silently gain'd his rude launch on the shore,  
As she play'd with the flood; as she play'd with the flood.
> 
> The guards of the camp, on that dark, dreary night,  
Had a murderous will; had a murderous will.  
They took him and bore him afar from the shore,  
To a hut on the hill; to a hut on the hill.
> 
> No mother was there, nor a friend who could cheer,  
In that little stone cell; in that little stone cell.  
But he trusted in love from his father above,  
In his heart all was well; in his heart all was well.
> 
> An ominous owl with his solemn bass voice  
Sat moaning hard by; sat moaning hard by.  
"The tyrant's proud minions most gladly rejoice,  
For he must soon die; for he must soon die."
> 
> The brave fellow told them, no thing he restrained,  
The cruel gen'ral; the cruel gen'ral;  
His errand from camp, of the ends to be gained,  
And said that was all; and said that was all.
> 
> They took him and bound him and bore him away,  
Down the hill's grassy side; down the hill's grassy side.  
'Twas there the base hirelings, in royal array,  
His cause did deride; his cause did deride.
> 
> Five minutes were given, short moments, no more,  
For him to repent; for him to repent;  
He pray'd for his mother, he ask'd not another;  
To Heaven he went; to Heaven he went.
> 
> The faith of a martyr, the tragedy shew'd,  
As he trod the last stage; as he trod the last stage.  
And Britons will shudder at gallant Hale's blood,  
As his words do presage; as his words do presage.
> 
> "Thou pale king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe,  
Go frighten the slave; go frighten the slave;  
Tell tyrants to you their allegiance they owe.  
No fears for the brave; no fears for the brave."


End file.
